


Holding on tight to the shadows

by xantissa



Series: Darker Corners [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eavesdropping, Implied Non-Con, Implied Violence, M/M, POV Sheriff Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff Stilinski just wanted to have his highly illicit lunch somewhere where Stiles’ many spies wouldn’t see him and rat him out immediately. He accidentally eavesdrops on Stiles conversation with Hale. Well, he did think he wanted to know what was going on in his son’s life...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding on tight to the shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Oh My God, this thing has grown a plot damn it!

There’s a small park on the west side of town, next to the last stretch of apartment blocks before the preserve starts. It’s small and barely used, since some ten years earlier another park was built two blocks away. The newer one has a tiny pond with a charmingly romantic bridge crossing it. It has ice cream wonders, a stretch of mini golf and a well-trimmed patch of grass that young people use to picnic on with their lovers and family. The older, smaller part fell into a bit of disarray over the years its bigger and better funded cousin took away most of its goers. 

The fact that there were very few if any people there on any given time, was why John Stillinsky used it as his lunch break spot. Well, calling it a hideaway was a better choice, because if he took his cheeseburgers there to eat, he could be sure Stiles wouldn’t see him break his diet. Well, nobody would see him break his diet and tattle to his son. Some days John could swear his son managed to bribe, guilt or outright blackmail half the office to spy on his poor father.

The recent months were not good, between all the lies and all the secrets Stiles kept from him, he felt like he didn’t even know his child at all. After that little scene he witnessed, John honestly tried to talk to Stiles, tried to let him know that being gay or bisexual meant nothing to John, that he would love Stiles always. What he didn’t expect was for Stiles to... avoid talking completely. Yes, he threw some vague comments about, squirmed and groaned but ultimately he didn’t say a thing. He didn’t sit down and talk, he just didn’t talk to john at all.

It didn’t help that things only seemed worse after it. There were again unexplained murders happening around town. On no less than three occasions, John had caught sight of Scott with Allison at the times when Stiles said they were spending the night together studying or gaming.

His child was lying to him about where he spent his nights and... John really didn’t like where that was leading him. Still, it surprised even him just how much of a coward he was, refusing to put his foot down, to force Stiles to tell him the truth. 

He was afraid of the things he saw in his son’s eyes when Stiles thought nobody saw him. The sadness, the coldness the shadows... Sometimes his eyes were so distant and he seemed so still it send shivers down John’s back, because that was not his son, not the child he knew.

And speak of the devil and here he comes. As he rounded the last patch of overgrown weeds that used to be another picnic spot he heard familiar voices. Or at least one familiar voice.

“But Derek!” The whine was so familiar, perfected into the ideal pitch to make parental teeth grind. 

Derek.

Derek Hale.

Again.

His first instinct was to follow the sound and ask Stiles what he was doing with the older man again. Stiles kept swearing he didn’t really know Hale, that whatever meetings there were, were completely accidental.

This didn’t sound accidental. At all.

He crept as stealthily as possible until he had a clear line of sight at the two men. Crouching in the bushes might have been undignified but damn it all, John wanted to know what was going on. If Stiles wouldn’t tell him the truth, then John would just have to learn on his own.

There they were, Stiles sitting on the old picnic table, the wood withered and the paint peeling, dressed in the same clothes he was that morning when he left for school. A stretched white tee, grey hoodie with sleeves way too long for him. It made him look much younger and much more slender than he was in reality.

“We need to talk about this Derek. We really, really do.”

His son had his arms around himself, in a subconscious self-hugging gesture that only happened when Stiles was really miserable.

Derek Hale stood a few paces away from his son, his stance almost military in how rigid it was. His brows were furrowed and mouth turned down in a grimace John couldn’t immediately interpret. He radiated tension, his hands were curled in fists and John got the impression that he was exerting huge amounts of will power just to stay where he was.

He said nothing. His startlingly pale eyes were fixed somewhere over Stiles shoulder he looked both dangerous and mysterious and John was painfully aware that Stiles was always the kid that desperately longed to belong, be noticed. For all his smarts and courage, Stiles was startlingly vulnerable, always starved for affection.

“You can’t just sweep it under the carpet Derek.” Stiles said wearily, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested on them. “What happened that night... it has long lasting consequences. You know...” 

Derek moved so fast, so rapidly it wasn’t just his son who jumped up in fright. Hale’s hand slapped the table beside Stiles with enough force to sound like a gunshot. John had his sidearm in his hand before he realized what was happening.

“What happened?” Hale’s voice was low, almost growling, downright terrifying by the rage tightly contained in it. “What. Happened.” Hale was face to face with his son, his body almost vibrating with leashed aggression.

John flashed back to the seemingly aggressive display he saw between those two before and what he saw now just highlighted the difference. Right now Hale looked like he could rip his son apart with his bare hands.

“Or maybe what you did Stiles? What you fucking planned!” There was so much rage in his voice, it was incandescent with it.

Stiles shrunk back from Hale. He looked afraid, but not surprised by Hale’s reaction. Whatever happened must have been important, must have been big... and John still knew his son enough to read guilt on his face, on his whole body. Whatever happened, Stiles knew he was in the wrong.

“There was no other choice Derek.”

Hale reared back, taking deep breaths, his nostrils flaring as he literally panted for control. 

“I trusted you. I fucking trusted you Stiles!” He all but roared, his face twisting into a grimace of pain so tightly intervened with rage it looked like a single emotion.

Stiles flinched back even more, hands going up to cover his face, the move aborted halfway through, though.

“And what was I supposed to do!” Stiles shouted back, his face twisted in a way that said he was holding back tears. “You were dying! So what if I was prepared! I had like a dozen emergency plans at the ready. I couldn’t, wouldn’t just stand there and watch you die!”

Hale took another step back, a deep breath and intentionally locked his eyes with Stiles. He looked more pained than angry then.

“I said no Stiles. I told you no. And you didn’t listen.” His voice were almost calm, delivered in that deep voice of his.

The effect was even more explosive than if Hale actually hit Stiles. His son made a choked, horrible sound and then curled into himself, sobbing uncontrollably. The sound was so wretched, so broken John sucked in his breath.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry Derek. Please… I’m sorry.” 

Hale turned around, started walking away. He reached the old maple tree and then stopped, his head hanging low, his chest heaving. He ran both his hands over his hair, messing it up. The only sound in the part was Stile’s uncontrollable sobbing and pleading.

There were so many thought chasing each other around John’s brain. The phrase ‘you were dying’ was rolling around in his brain. What could Stiles possibly get himself into, to face situations like that?

Hale turned around and stalked back suddenly. John twitched, ready to defend his son but Hale moved almost inhumanly quickly, closing the distance before John had time to decide a course of action. He curled his big hand around Stiles bowed head and pulled him roughly into his chest in a strange sort of hug. He didn’t really look at Stiles, when the kid curled his hands into his Henley. He stared somewhere into the distance, face twisted into something horrible.

“I couldn’t let you die... I... I watched my mom die. After that I promised myself, promised, that I would never let it happen again. I couldn’t do anything for her, but I could for you.” Stiles voice broke at the end and he started sobbing again, but quieter, more controlled this time.

John felt as if somebody kicked him in the chest. 

Hard. 

He had no idea what to think, what to do, who to help first. Stiles looked wretched, sobbing and pleading for forgiveness that John ached to give, just to take that look away from Stile’s face. But it wasn’t his to give. 

Hale looked devastated, like he was so deep into suffering he couldn’t even remember how it felt not to be in pain. There was all kind of horrifying things that happened in his past, and now it seemed that Stiles had added one more atrocity to the collection. And even without knowing the reason, without the facts, John knew his son and knew Stiles did what he did to help. Stiles could be stupid and impulsive, thoughtless, but never intentionally cruel.  
“What you did, what you made me do... Stiles, I was sure I was incapable of doing that. One of the very, very few things I swore I would rather die than do. You made it happen. I don’t know what gave you the idea that I’m stupid or can’t see the consequences of my actions. I have lived this life a lot longer than you. I know how it works Stiles. I might have been delirious and half insane with pain, but I understood what you were proposing Stiles. I understood. That was why I said no.” He spoke slowly, almost calmly, patiently trying to explain to Stiles what he felt.

Only looking at his son’s shaking figure, at his shoulders hunched into himself so tightly he looked like he might disappear any moment, John thought that Stiles already understood.

“I would have rather died.” Those words were slow, calm and very, very final.

Stiles made a sound then, almost a howl, and John had to put his gun away because he realized his hands were shaking so badly it was dangerous. His chest constricted and he felt on the edge of a panic attack himself. 

Stiles, his son, his baby, looked like he was going to shatter at the lightest touch, the gentlest of sounds.

“There has been enough death Derek, just… enough. I told you, two years ago, that if you died I would be devastated.” Stiles was talking with his face pressed into Hale’s chest, words muffled but still clear enough to understand. Forceful with the unshaken belief in it. Right then there were so many things, so much history in Stiles voice, in the way Hale kept holding his son even when he was so clearly angry and hurt by him. In that moment his child was a stranger to him.

“What you did Stiles... it’s unbreakable. I can’t forget, nor deny. Forever I will be haunted by that night. It might not have been my choice, but it will be my burden to bear for the rest of my life.”

Stiles shuddered again, but his sobs tapered off.

“I am sorry for taking away your choice, for not giving you an option, for not listening to you and breaking your trust.” Stiles straightened and looked at Hale, pale and shaking and so damn brave. “But I am not sorry for saving your life. I have seen you cut up, shot and fucking tortured for people that still point you out as a murderer. I’ve seen you fight tooth and claw for two years for this town, these people, for a bunch of stupid teenagers. I’ve seen you bleed so many times. You took nothing from me Derek that I didn’t offer. Whatever else you think of me, this guilt you can’t have. It’s mine. Only mine. Not something for you to beat yourself up for.” 

There was a sudden, unexpected strength of conviction in Stiles, his shoulders squared, eyes looking right into Hale’s scarily incense ones without a flinch.

John reeled. Cut up? Shot? Tortured for god’s sake? What was going on in his town just under his nose?

Hale said nothing, but John thought he could see a flash of respect in his closed off face for a moment.

“It doesn’t work like that.” Hale denied, but it was an oddly, awkwardly gentle gesture. Like the hug from before, it was like Hale forgot like gentleness looked, no longer used to any kind of kindness.

“Then make it work.” Stiles demanded, a thousand unsaid things in his face and Hale... Hale looked like he at least understood them. It was like there was a whole other life that happened just under John’s nose.

Hale said nothing, only stepped back, still looking at Stiles as if he saw his for the first time.

Eventually he sighed, his powerful chest expanding with the inhale and then collapsing with the long, slow exhale.

“Give me your keys.” Hale suddenly demanded.

“What, why?” John snorted at how his son became instantly possessively protective if somebody tried to drive his car.

“Because you are in no condition to drive and I would rather you didn’t kill yourself in a car accident.”

Stiles gave a forced grin, his face still pale and blotchy from crying, hands shaking so badly it took him two tries to fish the keys out of his pocket.

He didn’t deny his state though.

“Mama wolf.” It was a strange thing to say, but Hale only snorted, so it was probably some kind of inside joke.

After Hale pocketed the keys he pulled Stiles to his feet. The moment the kid’s ass left the table he started sinking down. Between Hale’s powerful arm and Stiles grabbing hold of the table, they managed to stop him from falling.

“Huh, you were right.”

They started walking, Hale keeping a hand on Stiles’ elbow the whole time. An oddly protective gesture, even if his face expressed only annoyance.

“There are going to be changes and you will conform.” Hale stated roughly as they walked. “You made your bed Stiles and I will make sure you lie in it.”

It was a very ominous sounding statement and it left John uneasy. He knew facing the consequences of his action’s was a very important step in the learning process, but he was a father and sometimes the consequences were just too big to let his kid face them alone or in the full extent.

Just when they almost vanished from his sight, he heard his son’s voice again. It carried surprisingly well in the empty park.

“Will you ever forgive me?” John would be happy if he never again heard that particular tone in his child’s voice.

“I want to.” Was the only thing Hale said, his voice already cold and distant.

The Sheriff sat down hard on the ground and covered his face with his hands. Jesus. He probably preferred it when he thought his son was lusting after Hale. 

John had a lot of thinking and talking to do, a lot of things to uncover. He wanted to rush down home and shake all the answers from Stiles but he realized that if his son hid it from him for two years, even with the afore mentioned cases of shooting, cutting and torture even, he doubted Stiles would break down now. He also feared that pushing too hard would end with Stiles slipping even further away from him that he was now, and even now it felt like he was holding on tightly to mere shadows.

The end


End file.
